The Emperor's Circus
by Pale Wolf
Summary: Still on Tatooine, a young Luke Skywalker handles a pair of stolen droids a little differently, and finds himself continuing on with his original plans for his life rather than the path of a Jedi... Sorta.


Disclaimer:No copyright is mine, thus no copyrighted character is.

The Emperor's Circus

By Pale Wolf

Prologue

With Such Acts As: 

-----------------------------

Martius 33, Year 19 ATE

Imperator-I Star Destroyer Devastator, Tatooine Orbit

09:43 Coruscant Standard Time

He hated this place. It made him remember.

And that made him rush, made him careless. He had not actually intended to kill Antilles - the man still needed to be interrogated, after all - he had just been rougher than planned.

Not being in control of himself made him even more irritable, as if the reminders of his own years of labour and what had happened to his mother - what the Jedi had _let_ happen to his mother - were not enough.

Maybe he could have Tarkin use his toy on this damned world of Hutts, crime, and slavery. The galaxy would be better off without it.

He shook his head, returning his attention to the _many_ forms he needed to file and go over. Ruling the galaxy really was not what it was cracked up to be - there was _so_ much drudgework that needed to be done for things to be handled in an at-all-efficient manner.

He could hand much of this off to subordinates (in fact, a lot of this probably should have been handled by Mulchive Wermis, the Devastator's captain), but with the positively intolerable levels of incompetence and political appointments in the Imperial Navy, the only way to be sure a job was done properly was to do it himself. And, he had to admit to himself, he liked putting the personal touch on things. Work at the lower levels was so much more interesting than dealing with politicians and diplomacy.

With a final click, he finished drafting the orders regarding that rebel Princess of Alderaan - he was having her transferred to the Death Star's prison block, for interrogation while he served as observer there. The Death Star was still in danger from her treachery, so he would simply leave her there. If her comrades succeeded, well, dying alongside the millions of servicemen she'd consigned to death would be swift justice.

He sent the order, and returned his attention to a report from the Toprawa survivors. He frowned under his mask.

"Captain Wermis thinks you shirked your duty, Commander, and that is how you survived. I would leave it to his judgement, but something does not feel quite right..."

He was not quite sure what it was. Her report, which he was reading now, was exceptionally clear-headed, precisely analyzing both Imperial and rebel performance and strategy, every angle of the engagement... Some very interesting conclusions she had come to, as well...

**That** was it. She had come out of hiding as soon as Devastator arrived to relieve and secure the system, and joined the engagement immediately with a data update on Rebel positions in the system. Her flying... She was one of the most aggressive pilots he had ever seen, ripping into the rebels without seeming to care if they hit her unshielded fighter... That did not quite mesh with the image of a coward who had abandoned her command.

He would have to check into the matter a bit more. Check the flight recorders on her fighter, interview her and that other survivor personally... The truth would be his. If she really was guilty he would probably execute her for putting him through the extra trouble, but if she was innocent, the Empire had few enough competent officers to go tanking the careers of people with simple bad luck.

He tapped the comm terminal, summoning the holographic image of Colonel Wal Grindel, his aide.

The man snapped to attention. "Lord Vader."

"Arrange a meeting with Lieutenant-Commander Jaeger, Captain. In four hours."

Grindel nodded. "Yes, my lord." He turned down to his terminal, keying in a note. He looked back up. "Did you need anything else, my lord? A meeting with Lieutenant Wahler as well?"

Grindel really was a joy. Competence. "That is correct. Have him come at the same time. Inform him he may be waiting. And have the flight recorders - the originals - from ET-1-1 and ET-1-9 brought to my chambers as soon as possible. That will be all."

"Yes my lord." He saluted, and the hologram closed.

Vader switched to the latest progress report from the soldiers searching the planet's surface. Nothing yet.

Still, the planet was under blockade, the droids Princess Organa had apparently entrusted the plans to would not be able to get them anywhere _else_.

He'd have to leave for his mission aboard the Death Star soon enough.

In the end, he supposed it would be satisfactory if the blueprints remained bottled up on Tatooine.

-----------------------------

Lars Homestead, Tatooine Surface

09:50 Coruscant Standard Time (20:50 Tatooine Local Time)

Luke just sighed, dropping his gaze as the suns fell below the horizon. Was he _ever_ going to see any others? Get up there and see the world that had been his father's?

He just shook his head as he turned to head back in. _I shouldn't have snapped at Aunt Beru._ Uncle Owen wasn't being malicious, he just... wasn't ready for Luke to leave yet.

... Well, this attempt to talk him into it had failed. _Two whole years gone..._ Luke sighed again. Two years late to get started with his life.

Still. It wouldn't be three - Owen had **promised**, and the man took that most seriously.

He'd just have to do what he could. Hit the books, hit the range, hit his T-16, until he was so ridiculously overprepared that he'd be the best cadet that had _ever_ attended the Imperial Academy. That ought to help him catch up.

He shut and locked the door behind him, strolling through the hallway into the garage.

Hm. He'd come to check those new droids were settled down, but where had they gotten off to?

It was too late at night for hide-and-find games. Luke pulled the restraining bolt control from his belt, and hit the call switch.

There was a little gasp, and Luke turned, blinking as the gold-plated one - C-3P0 - jerked out from behind the family's V-35 landspeeder. "... What're you doing hiding back there?"

"It wasn't my fault, sir! Pleeeaaaaaase don't deactivate me!" Luke had a little sinking feeling in his stomach at that introduction. "I told him not to go, but he's faulty, malfunctioning!"

Eyes widening, Luke took another quick look around the garage. Nothing. And the little rolling end table hadn't come out of the clutter when he'd hit the call button-

"Kept babbling on about his 'mission'..."

"Oh, _no_..." Luke turned to jog back outside. The little astromech had talked him into pulling the restraining bolt off back before dinner.

... Wait. Had this been intentional? Had it _planned_ it, fooling him with that act and the hologram of Miss Help-Me-Obi-Wan-Kenobi?

And he'd fallen for it like a gullible worm.

He was outside before long, macrobinoculars off his tool belt and flipping them open to peer across the dunes. Tracking clockwise, slow circle, make sure he didn't skip anything...

"That R2 unit has always been a problem," the protocol droid commented as it clattered up beside him.

_Says the one who fast-talked me into getting him just this afternoon..._

"These astro-droids are getting quite out of hand. Even I can't understand their logic at times." Background noise...

"How could I be so stupid...?" Luke lowered the macs. "He's nowhere in sight." And the sand people got active once the suns went down... "_Blast_ it."

"Pardon me sir, but... couldn't we go after him?"

_Yeah, that droid has definitely not spent a lot of time on this ball of overly congealed sand._ "It's too dangerous with all the sand people around, we'll have to wait until-"

Wait. If he lost one of the new droids the _day they got it_, there was no way Uncle Owen would think Luke could handle himself at the Academy... **Luke** was spiritually smacking himself upside the head over this.

Luke bit down on his lip. Instincts had gotten him into this mess, it was time to calculate. The droid would be out there six to eight hours if he waited to morning, on top of the tim to actually find it. Plus it'd be heading out across the Dune Sea all that time, further away from settled lands and deeper into sand people territory. On the other hand, if he went out now, his X-34 would make a much bigger blip if any sand people were ranging out too close... And morning, he'd be a lot deeper in their territory, might still run into them. So there was no way to avoid a risk.

"Luke!" came Owen's voice from inside. "I'm shutting the power down!"

"I'll be there in a bit!" Luke absently replied.

_So... escape plan. If that droid gets far enough it'll be rock and ridges. I can't really use my speeder on that. If the encounter's out on the Dune Sea, though... I can just hit the accelerator._

Luke nodded. His odds were better, and so were the droid's. "Actually. We're going. Wait in the garage for an hour." He still didn't want to get caught in this screwup, he'd have to wait for Owen and Beru to go to bed.

For now, Luke slipped away the macs, heading back inside.

-----------------------------

Dune Sea

11:32 Coruscant Standard Time (22:32 Tatooine Local Time)

Getting out with his X-34, and _without_ waking his aunt and uncle, hadn't exactly been a trivial exercise. He'd ended up having to shut off the 3P0 and drag it out, it clearly didn't quite understand 'shut up'.

Still, he was out, and the 3P0 was back on again, spilling more white noise into his ears. Something about how the R2 had rammed a dignitary on an earlier cruise.

Or something. Luke was paying more attention to the scanner, to be honest. There were a ...lot of contacts... The sand people were definitely out tonight.

One huge contact fairly near all of them. Sandcrawler? Luke spared a bit of hope for the jawas, that they got out okay. But he wasn't stupid enough to go charging to the rescue - he was one, the sand people were... a lot. He was good with his Czerka rifle and all, but not _that_ good. And there was nothing for kilometers but farmers - no help to be found, just ways to increase the death toll.

And one small, strong contact heading towards the Jundland Wastes, well out of sight of the party around the (presumed) sandcrawler.

"Got something on the scanner," he said, interrupting Threepio's monologue (which seemed to have made its way to the customs of the Kuati families...) "Might be our little nightstand." _Might also be a jawa or sandie on foot, but I can get a visual confirmation with my macs and run before I get too close._

Luke hit the accelerator, reveling for a moment as the (artificial) wind rustled through his hair. That was the one thing he'd miss when he went to the Academy - inertia, the chance to _feel_ his speed.

Though, he was never getting to the Academy unless he got that droid back, without getting caught (or shot) by the sand people. He kept his eye on the scanner.

He jolted in his seat as the landspeeder topped a dune, his sensor board flooding with light.

He'd always _heard_ the phrase 'blood ran cold', but never really knew what it meant. Now he got it. It wasn't so much a physical cold as it was emotional - for just a moment, he stopped feeling anything at all, losing all expression.

He'd just gotten **really** unlucky, Two clusters of contacts - well-sized ones, big enough to be sand people on banthas. _Behind_ him - they must've been hidden in the ground clutter, low, signal blocked by the rolling dunes.

The signals vanished again as his speeder came down off the dune, and Luke heaved a sigh of relief. While being low and hidden by the dunes meant they couldn't be detected easily (sensors couldn't see through solid objects, after all), those same dunes blocked any sensors they had from spotting him - invisible, but blind. Now he just had to hope nobody was looking at the scope for that short instant they could spot one another.

... Yeah, right. If Luke had to guess, he'd say the two clusters were scouts, outriders for the big group around the sandcrawler. He was... fairly sure he'd been spotted, they had nothing _else_ to do but keep watch.

"Master Luke? Is there something the matter?"

Luke blinked, and looked back at the gold-plated droid. "Yeah. Sand people got between us and home." He ran a hand through his hair. "And they'll probably be moving to cut us off."

"... Oh dear. We're doomed. We'll be-"

"We're not doomed," Luke cut the droid off before it could really get started. "We're just in a bit of trouble. We'll pick up that little R2 unit while we're here, and then we'll sneak past them." _Of course, we don't know exactly where they're gonna be, so that'll be tricky..._

"Ah, I see. Most wise, Master Luke."

Luke allowed himself a grin. _I can get used to keeping this chatterbox around if he keeps up with the flattery._ Luke turned the landspeeder and cut out the thrusters, coasting the rest of the way across the desert - he'd rather have a quicker turnaround to be getting home.

Keeping a hand on the controls, Luke picked up his macrobinoculars and twisted in his seat to get a view of what lay ahead. He grinned.

He had to hand it to the little droid. It was **stubborn**.

He feathered the throttle a bit, and smiled to himself as, just like he'd planned, his X-34 floated past the rolling R2 unit, stopping right in front of it.

Still smiling, Luke hopped out of the speeder, restraining bolt in hand.

"And where do you think you're going?"

-----------------------------

R2-D2 was a droid. A machine. He was not programmed with emotions, merely to emulate them to make organics feel comfortable.

So he was not 'annoyed' at having been caught. It was merely an unfortunate loss of time that he could have devoted to _much_ more interesting tasks.

He evaluated the option of attacking the approaching farmhand, but rapidly discarded it. While his overall chances of neutralizing the human male were high, given his array of tools, he calculated an approximately thirty-seven percent chance of being foiled. Then he would never escape - they would be on their guard.

It would be preferable to simply escape at a later date. He had time, the Princess would not be executed for a while yet, and Operation Skyhook had no tight schedule to conform to - it could wait for him to deliver the data.

While his senile act had been caught in time, the young male was naive and trusting. It would not be difficult to outmaneuver him again.

At the absolute least, there were a large amount of electronic devices in the home to be made use of (he would likely have to disable the SoroSuub X-34 landspeeder either way, next time - he had expected to get further before pursuit began). And humans needed to sleep.

So he did not resist as the young human leaned over and fused the restraining bolt back into place (though to misuse a human statement, it felt 'icky'). He simply twittered a plaintive cry about his mission. He felt no such distress, but he calculated that the ideal situation would require he feign malfunctions, keep them from realizing he was working according to a careful plan.

"Mission? _What_ mission?" C-3P0 responded, coming around the SoroSuub X-34 landspeeder. "Master Luke is our rightful owner. We will have absolutely no more of this Obi-Wan Kenobi gibberish."

R2-D2 was not 'annoyed' by the outburst. Really, it was a load off his processor that C-3P0 could be counted on to act in the same manner as he always had.

The human held up a hand. "No, it's fine. More importantly, we'd better get back home before the sand people find us." He crouched down, and heaved R2-D2 up and into the back of the SoroSuub X-34 landspeeder.

From there it was only 3.456278 seconds before Skywalker_Luke and C-3P0 were boarded and the SoroSuub X-34 landspeeder started moving again.

R2-D2 deployed his scanner - if there was danger about, it was the logical decision to have as much information as was feasible.

The issue was worth more than the handful of calculation cycles he had thus far devoted to it. **Another** Skywalker. Given the shared name, apparent resemblance, and current residence, the juvenile human was most likely the son of his previous masters.

Legally, he most likely was Skywalker_Luke's property. But his coding had been altered four standard years, two standard months, eighteen standard days, six standard hours, and three standard minutes ago, to reprioritize his decision tree in favour of the Alliance to Restore the Republic - in human terms, he had been programmed to be loyal to the Rebellion. He knew too much and was too useful for anything else. C-3P0 had not been considered reliable enough. So he only acknowledged his original loyalties with a passing thought - a ghost in the code.

It did not 'trouble' him. He was still useful - critical.

It appeared these calculations had brought him back to the formula already established for his escape. He should resume convincing Skywalker_Luke that the restraining bolt was causing system errors.

To that end, he chirped a short commentary. It actually managed to leave C-3P0 speechless.

Though, only for a moment. "What are you babbling about this time, you deranged space barnacle?"

R2-D2 blatted back a postulate that C-3P0 had not updated his memory banks with sufficient frequency.

"Mine? I suggest you check yours, you-"

"What's he saying?"

C-3P0 paused. "I don't believe there's any point in translating _that_, Master."

R2-D2's twitter would most likely translate to 'Hahahaha! I knew you didn't have the wires!'

C-3P0 harrumphed. "Fine! See if I protect you anymore. Master Luke, it was most erratic. He said that 'the cheese-tailed tree squirrels spend nights like this hoarding the nuts of men'. Do you know what that means, sir?"

Judging by the slack-jawed stare Skywalker_Luke directed first at C-3P0, then back at R2-D2 himself, he did not understand any more of that than it took to confuse him. R2-D2 would have evaluated the necessity of having the human remanded to psychological screening if he had.

Then his head whipped around to face front again. "... Uh-oh."

R2-D2's databanks calculated a strong correlation between those syllables and imminent threat of dismantlement.

Then his sensors reported the most probable reason for said syllables - a cluster of ten contacts approximately the size of a humanoid on the back of a large animal mount. They were spreading out, formation beginning to resemble a net aimed at trapping the SoroSuub X-34 landspeeder.

A call rang out, a hooting language not present in R2-D2's database, echoing through the night sky. Skywalker_Luke's face went white.

R2-D2 updated his file. Skywalker_Anakin would have charged ahead, or at minimum, hidden his fear - Skywalker_Luke appeared ready to acknowledge the danger of the situation. Such information would likely prove extraneous unless Obi-Wan brought him along, but it was not in his nature to dismiss possibilities.

The human's head turned down, consulting the scanner for 2.796223 seconds before he turned up, looking at R2-D2.

"Okay. This is gonna be tricky. R2, I'm going to have you hook into the landspeeder's computer. Keep it low, off the high dunes, and skirt us forward, around the sand people up there - try not to get us within a hundred meters, but it's more important to stay low, or other groups'll pick us up and we'll have _more_ to deal with."

"Master... shouldn't we go all the way around?"

Skywalker_Luke shook his head, reaching around and hoisting R2-D2 up. "Can't. There's at least one other group out here, and a whole pile of 'em further off." He dropped R2-D2 near the control panel, and the stocky droid quickly jacked in, assuming control. "And with those ones howling at us, the rest'll be moving and hiding to ambush us when we make a break for it. The ones in front, we at least know where they are."

"I see... what about you, Master Luke?"

"_I'll_ be making sure they keep their heads down instead of shooting at us." He hopped into the back of the SoroSuub X-34 landspeeder, picking up a long-barrelled Czerka 6-2Aug2 slugthrower rifle and nestling around it, pressing the buttstock to shoulder, cradling it in his arms, head leaning over to peer down its sights.

R2-D2's dome turned for a moment, focusing the holocam lens on the farmhand as he sat in the back, turning his aim forward.

... He really was naive. He was making this even easier than R2-D2 had planned, and the droid mourned the lost calculation cycles.

Still, the plan was to play along for now. His dome spun forward again. He could not initiate the current plan yet - there were still two threats, between the rifle (admittedly minor, the probability of making a hit on a target as small as R2-D2 moving at over two hundred kilometers per hour was low enough to discount entirely) and the restraining bolt control (the real threat).

R2-D2 accelerated. Another series of howls and hoots echoed. Angle to the right, attempting to squeeze past the rightmost 'sand person'. The current course would take the SoroSuub X-34 landspeeder a great deal closer than the recommended one hundred meters, but if he swung any further right the SoroSuub X-34 landspeeder would go up onto one of the higher dunes, violating Skywalker_Luke's 'order'. And, of higher priority to him... it kept his options open.

And they were in visual range, to the forward-left. R2-D2's visual sensors detected humanoid figures atop massive shaggy spiral-horned animals, wrapped in thick clothing, masked... Raising long rifles. Most likely nearly unseeable in the darkness, to a human.

There was a hiss-bark, a strange sound halfway between the firing of a blaster and a slugthrower, and a thin red bolt soared across in front of the SoroSuub X-34 landspeeder.

Was he not supposed to be doing that suppressive fire thing? Keep them too distracted to shoot? It remained acceptable if he did not. The SoroSuub X-34 landspeeder's hull was unlikely to take damage from a weapon of that level. R2-D2's own construction was the next-best thing to indestructible, as a hostile-environment repair droid - C-3P0 might sustain damage, but was reparable. Skywalker_Luke was the only one at real risk, and was the most apparent target as we-

**Crack**. It passed narrowly over the front windshield, rapidly approaching the shooters. He finally fired, but the rate of fire was still too sl-

There was a short hoot as the nearest of the swathed figures toppled off its mount, rifle flying from its hands.

R2-D2's dome spun, twittering nonsense as he recalculated. Skywalker_Luke was sitting, rifle braced with arm strength alone - an unstable enough stance to begin with. He was firing from an extremely rapidly-moving SoroSuub X-34 landspeeder, bumping along on rough terrain. In total darkness, at 107.3 meters. Without scope, computer assistance, or anything more than plain physical sighting mechanisms.

That shot was nearly impossible. R2-D2's admittedly limited information on shooting technique could report nothing else.

"Oh, good shot, Master Luke!" If he only knew.

R2-D2 would have to re-evaluate the rifle as a potential threat.

"Thanks." Skywalker_Luke did not duck or flinch, still sighting down the barrel as eight more strange crack-hisses rang out, most of the bolts going wide, but two hitting - one punching into the SoroSuub X-34 landspeeder's front body, leaving a neat hole in the hull but no structural damage, as the other cracked the windshield.

The sand people spurred their mounts, charging closer.

He really was less than talented at suppression fire. On the other hand...

Another slug made a small sonic boom as it tore downrange.

The reaction was not as spectacular this time, but R2-D2 observed the distant figure slump in the saddle, rifle dropping from its hands.

And then R2-D2's focus moved from the (rather slower-firing than he was used to, but remarkably accurate on both sides) exchange of fire.

Nine new contacts, clustered together approximately 66 degrees right of forward. Similar size to the ones they were already engaged with. C-3P0 and Skywalker_Luke were not watching the scanners.

It was time.

Charge through the middle. Shake the SoroSuub X-34 landspeeder, drop Skywalker_Luke off in the center of that cluster, and drive away towards Kenobi_Obi-Wan's reported position (ignoring C-3P0's protests all the while). Skywalker_Luke would have more important things to worry about than stopping two droids.

... He almost decided not to do it. But that was a simple ghost in the programming code. His absolute primary priority had been programmed as the Rebellion.

The chances of achieving the Rebellion's goals - the successful extraction of his data - were nearly one-to-one. The cost was, to the Rebellion, a tertiary objective at best. He couldn't **not** do it.

That was the difference between an organic and a droid.

A bolt from the front-left glanced off R2-D2's dome - the rounded construction and already-tough shell provided sufficient protection, though there was penetration, drawing sparks and exposing a number of circuits.

Wailing in emulated terror, R2-D2 banked the SoroSuub X-34 landspeeder to the right.

-----------------------------

Mod Terrik blinked as a scanner report popped up in his helmet, and reined his dewback to a halt, hefting his T-21 repeating blaster's barrel around, bringing it to bear on the X-34 landspeeder barreling towards his team from the left. His optics zoomed in at a subvocalized command, enlarging the 'dot on the horizon' to a nice, easily-viewable size. That looked like an attack vector... very aggressive, right at his team. And there was no way the speeder didn't see them, this white armour practically glowed in the dark.

His crisp bark of "Contact!" was probably unnecessary since his on-suit sensors reported his men already turning to face it, bringing their own weapons around - though, since they were equipped with short-range E-11s, he doubted they'd get much accurate fire in before Davin (his squad designated marksman) and he shot the speeder into cinders.

There was the crack of a slugthrower, and Mod blinked again. Even visual enhancement didn't pick up the slug's path towards his men... where was it? Another subvocal command zoomed him in a little more.

He frowned. He could see... gold droid in the passenger seat. What looked like an astromech propped near the driver's seat. And a human sitting in the back, yelling (Mod couldn't hear it, or read lips, but would bet money on it being a curse) - dressed in the typical pale-coloured tunic of a local to this desert, holding a rifle and aiming it backwards, away from his boys. A brace of red bolts fired from further in the night shot past and bounced off of the speeder, the local ducking to get a slight bit of cover from the speeder's thin hull.

_... A local in trouble? Dammit..._ This mission was supposed to be quiet, but... He lowered the barrel slightly.

"Boss, I see eight masked riders on banthas a couple hundred past the speeder," Davin's subvocalized transmission came through. "They look like those 'Tusken Raiders' from the briefing we got." He didn't ask if they should engage. He knew the mission.

Still, Mod heard it. _... Forget it, I'll take responsibility for the detour. Let's save the kid. Don't have the speed to avoid this fight anyway._ He spoke quietly, letting the microphone pick up his bare whisper and broadcast it to his squad: "Disperse a little, let the speeder pass between us, and lay down fire as the pursuers get in range. Retreat's acceptable, no pursuit. Go." He rolled to the side, falling a couple meters off the back of the large reptile he was riding, landing on the sand in a crouch, using the dewback for cover - while he could fire from the saddle and move the thing a bit, it was too bulky to really get the agility he'd trust to keep him alive under fire, and it didn't help that he, frankly, wasn't that good a rider. (He hated these hush missions, what he wouldn't give to be flying around in a Sentinel or MAAT, or even just a landspeeder, something civilized... at least the lizards had the sense of smell to be useful)

He grinned as he caught sight of Bern, anonymous in his white shell, cradling his E-11, back up against his own dewback across the way. Mod tossed him a thumbs-up - Bern responded with a _different_ finger up, drawing a laugh from Mod. _He's gotta learn not to bet against a Corellian._

Tyl's voice came over the line from his position. "Boss... this's a priority mission, we don't have time to spare."

"This won't take long, I'll take responsibility."

"I dunno..."

"Protest logged."

"... Roger."

"Good, now take care of yourself out there."

Excellent. Davin was taking partial cover behind his dewback's tail, DLT-19 blaster rifle and the upper corner of his helmet exposed, granting a clear view of the oncoming speeder, the mounted pursuers, and the slugs traded between the two (mostly from the latter, the local kid seemed to be taking cover behind the speeder's thrusters). What that meant was that Davin was playing spotter, feeding his helmet telemetry to the rest of the squad - in other words, the other eight men could see the situation without having to move out from cover and expose themselves to risk.

With a loud roar, the landspeeder shot between Mod and Bern (and their dewbacks), an astromech wailing in panic. Had there been any loose cloth, it certainly would have whipped about in the windstorm it left behind. The Tuskens were still coming, still firing.

Red bolts slammed into the dewbacks, drawing trills of pain from the big creatures, Mod's almost staggering over on top of him before he threw his back against it to shove it back. One of the Turkens reared back its head, letting out one of those chilling series of hoots that had rung out earlier.

Davin's first bolt caught that one full in the chest, and then went out the other side, reaching for the sky in a trail of pulped and cooked organs as the Tusken slid off the saddle. Blasters were _nasty_ on unarmoured targets.

They spurred the banthas into a faster charge.

Mod blinked. _What in that special hell smugglers go to are they doing? They're unarmoured, outgunned, outnumbered, and in the open, and they're charging an enemy with good cover? This is insane... Unless they're trying to do enough damage that we can't hit another group._

Davin's second bolt skipped off another Tusken's goggles... he shook his head and stayed up. Six crack-hisses from the other Raiders returned fire before he could correct his aim and shoot again - Davin's view shook but didn't go down, so Mod could tell he was alive, but it was hard to tell more from just telemetry.

_Ooooooh no. You do __**not**__ shoot at my boys._ Mod stepped out from behind his dewback, turning to face the already-close Tuskens, coolly bringing his T-21 into line. Would've been safer to peek from cover, but he wanted a clear field of fire.

His gaze flicked to Davin. The kid's arms were shaking, was wavering even in his kneeling position. Wasn't fear - the armour was cracked over his left shoulder and collarbone, dribbles of red slowly coming from the cracks, dripping down over the glossy white armour.

Mod pressed on the trigger, and steadily swept the T-21's barrel from left to right, low. At this range it wasn't hard to hit, but the T-21 wasn't all that accurate after the first shot, the recoil kicking it around in his grip. Mod preferred higher odds of success, so instead of the Tuskens, he was aiming at their banthas - even with a T-21's full kick, there was no way to miss those things.

It was ugly - T-21 bolts, drawing from the extra generator laid on his backpack, could vaporize armoured plate, flesh was... well... at least it was quick. Rearing back in fear, whipping from side to side as thick blaster bolts slammed into hairy flanks and horned heads, one spiral horn going flying as a blaster bolt severed it... it left a bad taste in Mod's mouth. This was why he didn't like people domesticating animals for war, they always got hurt for things they didn't understand.

At least the Tusken assault was blunted, they were too busy recovering from havving their saddles shot out from under them to finish Davin off. (And, he was a little worried... weren't they supposed to be primitive nomads? They were packing weapons that could penetrate his squad's armour...) He'd tagged two himself, on the far right as the barrel had climbed its highest. One in the thigh (taking off the leg almost entirely, his bantha _falling_ on it finishing the job, and prompting rather a lot of screaming), and another took two in the chest (probably instant death - no screaming, at least).

Mod let the barrel lower slightly as the rest of his men came out from cover - it was range for the E-11s.

A stunbolt from Hond silenced the howling one Mod had legged.

Two red killbolts in quick succession from Bern made the next Tusken to the left - attempting to push itself to its feet - twitch and fall back down.

One on the far left was back up, aiming - falling back, shot to the throat. (Tyl was a much a powerpack-saving hotshot as ever...)

Next one from the left was stuck under his bantha - Dree double-tapped a pair of stunbolts into him just in case.

Another one stepped out from his bantha, drawing a bead on Mod-**Crack**. And now falling back with a bleeding hole right in the middle of his facial wrappings.

Mod blinked, turning around as his men gunned down the last Tusken and quick-stepped up to check on the downed - confirm the kills, stun or give some mercy to anything still moving, and hustle the stunned survivors back to the squad's dewbacks. They knew the deal and he trusted them to do it.

Mod's saviour turned out to be the kid from the speeder - he'd apparently turned it around and brought it back to Mod's squad. Mod... admired that. His X-34 had the speed to get far away from the brawl, and he came back.

Not to mention the shooting... that was good for anyone, let alone a civilian. Mod could see him lower the rifle with a deep exhalation.

While he waited for the kid to soar in (rather slower this time), Mod adjusted the comm channel, whispering, "VF-501-10-4 to Devastator, come in Devastator."

A clipped Core accent came over the comm. "This is Devastator, go ahead 10-4."

Mod dropped the T-21, letting it hang from its shoulder strap, barrel cooling. "We got into a little scrap down here, some presumed Tusken Raiders chasing a local kid charged through our line of march and started shooting. The Tuskens were suppressed quick enough, but we've got one wounded."

There was a pause. Mod understood, he was just as disturbed at the idea of some backwater raiders getting in a hit on the **501st**. "... What's your mission status?"

Mod ran an eye over the moaning dewbacks, frowning. "Scrapped 'till we get resupply, I'm afraid. They shot up our dewbacks. We could try ride them, but it'd be faster on foot, they're hurting."

Mod could hear the man's grimace on the other end. "Stand by, I'll get a Sentinel down there."

"Hm? Isn't there already a supply craft coming in with replacement computers for that crawler we tracked a few hours ago? Can we use that in the interim?"

A pause, presumably as he looked it up. "Yes... in the morning."

"Mm. Why not roll the missions together, since we're sending supplies anyway? Might be a bit dangerous for those scrap dealers out here. If nothing else, do a flyby and shoot up anyone hassling 'em."

"I don't see why not. I'll recommend it. And?"

"As for exactly what happened..." Mod winced as the landspeeder approached. That astromech was still wailing, despite (or possibly because of) the protocol droid leaning over talking to it. "I don't know yet. The kid came back, we'll debrief him, get our wounded and prisoners in order, and call back. I'll stop this call now, that astromech's whinging has gotta be even louder for you."

"Stormtrooper microphones filter extraneous sounds. I don't hear a thing." He sounded so very, very smirking. "Devastator out."

"... Sometimes, I'm not sure whether I hate technology or love it." That won a round of chuckles - he heard Davin in there, yes! He was all right.

The landspeeder came to a gentle halt, the boy in white swinging down to the ground, clapping his hands over his ears. (Now that Mod thought about it, his helmet systems were probably dulling that sound for him... and the kid was hearing the screeching in full.) "I'm sorry! I didn't mean to draw them to you! This astromech's been really erratic..." There was a sudden look of enlightenment on his face, and he pulled something from his belt, whirled to point it at the astromech, and viciously stabbed down on a button.

Both droids powered down, and the boy had such an expression of bliss...

-----------------------------

"Name?" the stormtrooper asked. Luke had seen a couple before, but they were never quite as intimidating as now, white armour almost glowing in the night, skull-like helmet peering slightly down at him... Especially after having seen them in action, wiping out eight sand people in maybe ten seconds of blasterfire...

Luke shook himself. "Um... Luke Skywalker."

The stormtrooper nodded. "Why were they chasing you?"

Luke shrugged. "Because I was there, I guess...? The sand people really don't like us, raids and random attacks happen pretty much all the time..." He shook his head, shrugging again. His eyes raised to look behind the soldier - other troopers were working in the background, a few clustered over the figures on the ground, others flitting around the dewbacks... they looked like ghosts.

"Why were you in the area?"

Luke scratched his head, sighing. "I know, I shouldn't have been..." He jerked his thumb in the direction of the droids. "Like I said... R2 has been really erratic since we got him. He went out trying to get some message or something to old Ben Kenobi out in the Jundland Wastes... I was trying to get him back before he got any deeper into the sand people's territory."

Finally thinking on what had just happened, Luke paled, his knees buckling, dropping him to the ground. His hands shook for a moment as he remembered those cycler rounds shooting past him... He'd almost gotten _killed_ trying to get that stupid droid back. Was that... dumb little thing worth his life? Was Uncle Owen... really so hell-bent on keeping him from the Academy he wouldn't forgive a mistake?

No. No and no and no. If it were a straight choice between the Academy and taking a risk like this... he'd probably take it, even now. (Risking his life was part of joining the military anyway, after all) Luke wanted to do something with his life, risking it was worth that. But this wasn't such a choice...

In the end, this was only trying to avoid getting in trouble for his own screwup. He got so distracted by a hologram of a cute girl he let a droid he _knew_ was malfunctioning go without a restraining bolt.

He shouldn't have gone. He _should have told Owen_, owned up to his mistake and asked what to do.

There was a pat on his shoulder. Luke looked up, into the skull-like face of the stormtrooper. That was... somehow, very comforting. _I don't care why, thank the stars they were there... I survived._

"You're okay, kid. We'll get you home safe."

Luke shook his head. "It's not that..." Well, it was **partially** that he'd just almost got killed. But it was more that... he could've avoided this. Just by owning up to his mistake. Telling the truth, and accepting what he deserved. It all could've been avoided... "... so easily..."

The stormtrooper cocked his head curiously.

Luke blushed. "Nothing, sorry!" Just made a fool of himself in front of his rescuers...

The stormtrooper held out a hand. "Can you stand up?"

Luke nodded, but didn't take the hand - he'd embarrassed himself enough and made enough choices to be ashamed of this evening, he'd at least be able to stand up on his own. It was a little difficult getting leverage, and he was a little wobbly, but he rose without incident.

"Sorry, but I've got to ask a few more questions. Okay?"

Luke shook his head. "Go ahead. It's the least I can do. You guys... you saved my ass."

There was obviously no expression, but somehow Luke got the impression of a quick grin. "It's what we do. I'm going to need to check your droids and get their registries."

Luke brought his left hand up to cover his face. "Blast it... don't tell me they _are_ stolen...? R2-D2 and C-3P0, they said their last master was, uh... Captain Antilles?"

The stormtrooper just stared at him for a moment of pure shock. Then he shook himself out of it. "Something like that. That's them. Sorry, but I can't tell you any more."

"Ugh... I really want to give them back, but my uncle paid a lot for them... we didn't know they were stolen, those jawas have never dealt in stolen property before, they just collect scrap and repair it back into working order-" Luke clamped his mouth shut, cheeks reddening again. He was babbling.

The stormtrooper nodded. "Don't worry, we'll compensate or replace. Probably a little extra for working with us... Actually, I should probably come with you to your home, I'll need to explain a few things to your uncle and may as well make the retrieval official."

"Yeah... okay, that's fine. It'll be a bit of a squeeze using the speeder, but..."

The stormtrooper shook his head. "You haven't seen cramped until basic. I'll be fine, just don't turn that shrieker back on."

Luke had to grin. "Believe me... I've learned my lesson."

-----------------------------

Lars Homestead

Beru Lars looked up, stopping her pacing through the kitchen as she heard the howl of speeder engines. "Is that-?"

"It damn well better be," Owen barked, stepping quickly towards the garage.

Beru wasn't far behind... her heart leaped when she saw Luke's speeder pulling in - and there he was in the driver's seat! He was okay! It wasn't that she didn't notice the Imperial stormtrooper in the passenger seat with... my, that was a very large blaster. She just thought that as long as he got home, no matter what kind of trouble he got into, it was better than she'd feared.

Owen, beside her, just crossed his armed, raised an eyebrow, and tapped his foot impatiently, as Luke and the stormtrooper stepped out of the speeder. He opened his mouth to start asking. "We heard you leav-"

Both he and Beru blinked when Luke dashed up and wrapped his arms around both of them. "I'm sorry, Uncle Owen, Aunt Beru. I was... stupid, I made a dumb mistake and tried something stupid to fix it and... I'm sorry."

Beru brought her arms up to return the hug, glancing over his shoulder - the stormtrooper appeared to have tacitly decided to closely examine the family's Courier landspeeder while they met.

Owen sighed. "What happened, Luke?"

Luke sagged in Beru's arms. "I messed up. I took the restraining bolt off R2, he was complaining about it... then he ran off, was a few kilometers away when I found out." He looked up. "I knew I was gonna get into trouble, I was trying to get him back without you finding out..."

Beru gasped. "You went out onto the Dune Sea at night?! **Luke**..."

"I know... It was, I was, stupid. I should've told you... I'm really, really sorry."

Owen just shook his head, laying one hand on their nephew's shoulder. "The important part is that you're all right. Though you _do_ know that you are grounded so completely I can't actually put it into words right now."

Luke smiled up at him, nodding. "Yeah... I deserve it." He stepped back from the hug.

Owen raised an eyebrow.

Beru didn't express it, but her reaction was about the same. She'd expected a bit of a protest... his acceptance of the consequences was... either a sudden burst of maturity, or he was _really_ shaken up about what had happened out there. They'd have to find out, but... later. For now, he was okay. "Who's your friend, Luke?"

The stormtrooper looked up, and stepped over, pulling off his helmet to reveal a... rather more normal face than Beru had ever really envisioned being under that armour. Somewhat blunt features, short and neatly-trimmed black hair and beard (at least, originally black, there was some premature grey sneaking in)... He smiled, holding out a hand. "I'm Master Sergeant Mod Terrik, Imperial Stormtrooper Corps."

Owen stuck out his own hand, grasping it and pumping once. "Owen Lars."

Terrik blinked. "Lars?" He glanced at Luke.

"Ah, I'm adopted."

Terrik nodded. "I'm sorry... Actually, I needed to see you about those droids." He jerked a thumb at the landspeeder, where they lay deactivated in the back.

Owen crossed his arms. "What about them?"

Terrik sighed. "The truth is, I'm assigned to chasing them down. Some terrorists... One of them, I don't know which, possibly both... has an extremely dangerous... something like a computer virus loaded in memory. A few million people, at minimum, can be expected to die if that virus gets out."

Beru paled, hands coming up to cover her mouth's little 'o' of shock.

"I **need** to get those things into custody before the files get onto a network."

Owen rubbed his temples. "Look... it's not that I don't want to give them to you. But I need them to run the farm. After the last expansion we did, Luke's been overworked... half my vaporators are breaking down, and I need the protocol droid for diagnostics."

Terrik winced. "You're not going to like this next bit, sir."

Owen nodded. "Go on."

"The truth is... we don't know if they've already propagated the virus yet. We're going to have to destroy every piece of electronic equipment they've come in contact with."

Owen's jaw went slack. "That'll... you're going to destroy my farm."

Terrik shook his head. "No, absolutely not. We need to destroy the equipment, yes, but we're not completely unreasonable. Go around, figure out how much it'll cost to replace all of it, and fill out an invoice. We'll pay you that, and some extra for being so cooperative, the same time we come to pick up the gear."

Owen shook his head. "What about lost business? We won't be running while we _get_ all that new equipment."

Beru laid a hand on his arm, catching his eye. _Don't push it too far, Owen. They can just come and take it... we couldn't stop them._

Terrik shrugged. "Take a guess how long it'll take to get back in order, and how much money you'd make in that time Add it to the invoice. Consider it a vacation."

"Hm... the problem is, we're a moisture farm. If we shut down for a while, every other farm in the area will either have to cut back on produce, or pay spiked prices for water..."

Terrik smirked. "Mister Lars, my brother was a shipping... merchant. I'm not a _complete_ patsy."

Owen shrugged philosophically.

Beru just shook her head, fighting back a smile.

"Do you think the extra will be enough to hire some extra help?" Luke asked quietly from the side.

Beru looked at him, taking in his... shy, but determined expression. "You still want to go to the Academy...?" _I don't know what happened tonight, but... you seemed so distressed. I wouldn't have thought you'd be in the mood to consider dangerous things like that..._

Luke nodded firmly. "Even more now."

Owen had an odd expression, just _looking_ at Luke.

Luke met his gaze, and held it. "Some day. Maybe not this year, considering how grounded I am, but I'm young. I have a few to spare."

Owen 'hmm'ed. "We'll talk."

"Excuse me, did you mean the Imperial Academy?" Terrik asked.

Owen nodded. "Luke here doesn't like the idea of a nice steady life."

Beru glanced at his face. The tone was grumpy as usual, but... was that a hint of a smile? _What...? He never approved... What changed...? ... Men._ She just shook her head, smiling.

Terrik nodded. "He's a great shot... would be a lot of help wherever he ends up. ... Hm."

Owen cocked his head.

Terrik held up a finger. "Now... don't take this as a promise, I haven't cleared this and would have to check it. But... I'm here under the command of a pretty high-level official. If he gave you a recommendation as part of the reward for helping us out, it would pretty much guarantee you could get signed up in whichever stream you want. Then you'd just need to pass. Interested?"

Luke, eyes wide, looked at Owen.

Beru laid a hand on his arm.

Owen nodded. "Tell him where you want to go. We'll discuss whether you end up using it, but let's have the option."

Luke smiled, turning to Terrik. "Uh... I was always looking at flight school."

Terrik whistled. "I hear that's as tough for the Navy boys as stormtrooper school is for the Army. Good luck, kiddo." He raised his helmet, slipping it back onto his head. "Give me a minute."

-----------------------------

Imperator-I Star Destroyer Devastator, Tatooine Orbit

"Lord Vader?" A comm window from Colonel Grindel popped up.

"What is it?" While the tone was even, there remained the 'you are interrupting me, this had best be worth it' subtext. Darth Vader gestured to the dark-haired young woman seated in his chambers, as both a 'you, wait, I am busy' to her, and a 'witness present, make sure you say nothing she is not supposed to hear' to Grindel.

"My lord, Master Sergeant Terrik's unit has located the missing droids from the Tantive IV's registry."

Well now, that was _most_ worth the interruption. Vader also saw a rather ferocious grin from the young officer seated across from him, for a mere instant before she schooled her features to placidity. "Excellent. Give them an appropriate bonus, and a five-day leave pass to be redeemed when they wish."

Grindel nodded, sketching a note. "Two more matters, my lord."

Vader simply waited.

"First, it looks like the Rebellion has a contact on the planet. The local who found the droids for us reported that one of them was attempting to deliver a message to a local hermit, one 'Ben Kenobi'."

...

For a moment, the constant pulsing of Vader's respirator halted.

Kenobi? **Here**?

"Where?"

"I'm afraid we don't have exact coordinates yet, the directions were fairly vague. We're scanning the area from orbit now."

Vader nodded. "Find him. Arrange a detachment to go when it is found, and prepare my ship."

Grindel nodded, looking down for a moment to write the note.

... Wait. Obi-Wan was crafty. Cautious. The type to always have a backup plan. _What would the negotiator do...? Ah... yes._ "Add one droid to the detachment. Probe, protocol, astromech, battle droid, it does not matter which type."

Grindel looked a little confused, but nodded and added the note. "Anything else, my lord?"

"What was that second matter?"

"The droids were found for us by the Lars family."

Vader paused. "... Lars?" That name was familiar...

Grindel blinked. "Um, yes, one Owen Lars."

... What were the chances? The brother he'd spoken to only twice... _Family_...

Vader shook his head. That meeting had been a painful time for both of them. Bad memories... and he had never been a part of Owen's life. He should not butt in now. Nor was he that sure he wanted to... the man had been her son for the happiest times of his mother's life, and Vader was a little... jealous. Besides, he wasn't Anakin Skywalker. "Arrange for the local garrison to have a watch placed over them. No obstruction or interference, but keep them protected."

Grindel raised an eyebrow, but noted it down. "We have to destroy all their electronics, but we're providing funds to replace it, and a little extra as a reward."

"Pay to clear any debts they have, as well. From my accounts."

Grindel nodded. "Also... their son is interested in service as a Navy pilot. Master Sergeant Terrik has asked if you'd like to write in a recommendation for him. He says the boy is a good shot."

"Oh?" So... his nephew had some ambition. Well, anybody who wanted off that rock deserved all the help they could get. And maybe he'd turn out to be useful later. Besides, it was just good practice to reward good service. Fear alone served only to deter, not to encourage. "Have Terrik tell them the boy can expect a place in Vensenor Flight Academy whenever he chooses to go. Get his name and write up and send in the recommendation when you have time. But after that he is on his own - he will have the opportunity to learn, but if his talents do not suffice, he will wash out." Vader would give the boy the **opportunity** to prove his abilities, but if he did not have them, he would fail. He refused to do any more, he had enough problems already with incompetent political appointees, he did not need to add any of his own. Just some help getting through the bureaucracy.

Grindel nodded. "Any further instructions for the Larses?"

Hm. No, he supposed he should not interfere any further. "That will be all." He'd simply wish them well.

"Understood, sir." Grindel signed off, the window vanishing.

Vader looked across his desk at the young woman patiently waiting. Her expression and body language were completely placid, but it felt a little different to the Force. "Yes?"

She leaned forward. "So, we got 'em?"

Vader nodded. "The plans have been retrieved. Your mission is complete."

She closed her eyes. "My men'll be glad to hear it. I guess now they can rest."

"Perhaps we will continue this discussion. Ready your fighter - I will require escort, **Commander** Jaeger."

She blinked, confusion swirling through her emotions, but not appearing on her face. "That's... Lieutenant-Commander, Sir."

"It was."

Understanding, and a sudden flash of... anger? Her mind became like stone as she snapped to attention in her seat. "Am I allowed to refuse, Sir?"

... Now Vader was the one confused. "You wish to refuse?"

"My recent performance doesn't merit promotion, Sir. The only way I could've possibly impressed you is in our conversation just now. And I'd rather earn my ranks through my combat and command skills than my social skills." She seemed to bite off a continuation that she apparently deemed inappropriate.

"It appears," Vader began, fishing, "that you truly hate corruption, Lieutenant-Commander Jaeger."

Hit. But... partial. There was something else alongside it... or so her emotions told him. "I wouldn't phrase it quite like that, Sir." An image of... a girl?

"But it would be accurate." No. The image he was getting from her mind was indistinct, only long hair and the gray Navy uniform... It wasn't a specific girl, it was generic, 'girls'. Hm...

She nodded shortly.

"And?"

She gritted her teeth. "I'm a woman, Sir. The next girl who signs up to serve the Empire is gonna follow in the footsteps of Sharle Jaeger. My career will affect her opportunities, the way the brass views women. Is that example I'm settin' gonna be 'some woman Darth Vader favoured', or is it gonna be 'a woman was the best damn officer in the service'?" She fell silent, feeling she had said too much.

Ah. **That** pervasive issue. "You are far from the only woman in the Navy, Jaeger."

"... Every little fraction adds up into one big message, Sir."

"As you wish." Vader felt like smiling. She was even more useful than he had initially thought. That second purpose would _force_ her to keep clean. She would be impartial, and unassailable. "You were right, earlier."

She blinked, thrown by the sudden change in topic.

"It _is_ strange. And dangerous. I am transferring you off combat duties."

Jaeger jerked to her feet. "But Sir!"

He slowly stood, pinning her with a level stare. "I am moving you to further training, and then research. It is dangerous. Fix it."

She slowly blinked. He could feel her mind processing his order. She snapped to attention. "Yes SIR!"

"Dismissed. Prepare your fighter."

She saluted, turned on her heel, and strode from the room.

In the morning, it had looked to be a day for disappointment. But right now, it seemed not one thing could go wrong.

-----------------------------

Lars Homestead, Tatooine Surface

Owen shut the door, and moved to take a seat. Terrik was waiting in the kitchen, Beru entertaining, but it was _past_ time they'd had this talk. To be honest he was the one who'd refrained from bringing it up, but he'd also suspected he wouldn't much care for the answers. _But he seems a bit more serious now._

Owen picked up a bottle, poured two glasses, and handed on to Luke. At Luke's incredulous look, he simply said "I'm allowing it. Just for tonight."

Luke nodded, taking a small sip, eyes widening slightly as the kick hit.

Owen took his own sip. Ah... small pleasures were really what it was all about. Though much more than one glass and the night would get... interesting. (Though sharing a few with Beru made some nights 'interesting' in the good way)

"All right. I admit it. I should have had this talk years ago. Let's talk about your future."

Luke nodded quietly, looking down.

"I'll ask what you have planned later. But let's start at the important part. What do you **want**?"

Luke took a sip, giving himself time to think, and phrase. He swallowed. "I... I'm not really sure how to put it. Uh..."

Owen took a sip of his own, grumbling. He never got to skip to the important parts. "Fine, we'll go with what you have planned then." He gestured with his glass. "Tell me what my nephew's thinking of doing with his life."

Luke blinked. "Well... the Academy, of course..."

"Sure, what next? What's the Academy a step to? Planning on staying in the service, or moving on once your tour of duty's up?"

"Ah... I was thinking I'd do my tour of duty and then joining up with Biggs to start a business. You know, get training and some money ready? Staying in... maybe. I honestly don't know what it's like, so I can't really decide on that..."

Owen took a drink, relishing the taste. "Sounds like a decent plan. Why?"

Luke blinked. "... Why's it a decent plan?"

"No, no, I can guess why the Academy, but why a business? Why Biggs - what'll you do if he changes his mind?"

Luke took a swig, rolling it around in his mouth as he thought. "I... honestly, dunno. Do what he's doing?"

"_No_! No no no." Luke blinked as Owen tapped his chest with his glass. "It's better to have no plan than someone else's plan. You'll end up resenting what you do, and resenting him for dragging you into it." Owen sighed, leaning back again. "Look... Luke. You will get separated from your friends, maybe even the closest. Different plans - most of them are staying here, after all - different abilities, and just fate... You can't try to stay with them at the expense of your own life. Keep in touch, but you can't do everything with Biggs. And maybe you shouldn't."

"... What's that mean? That I shouldn't?"

Owen finished off his glass, and swallowed after a moment. "This is just advice. But... I don't think friends should go into business together. Ugly things happen to a relationship when you bring money into it." Owen laid his glass on the table. "Just consider it. All of it. Okay?"

Luke sighed, nodding and finishing his own. "It'll be... what, four years, five? A lot can happen in that time... Maybe I'll find something I really want to do? Biggs has just started his tour of duty, maybe he will, like you said... I'm young and don't have all the info yet, after all."

Owen just shut his eyes and leaned back in his seat. "That's three years."

Luke jolted, staring at him. "Do you mean-?"

"The life I'd have wanted for you is something peaceful... comfortable... familiar. Meet a good woman, or a good man if that's your thing, settle down, that's what's _really_ exciting." Owen shook his head. "But that's what **I** would dream of. You're a different man, with your own dreams."

Luke had a look of shock growing into a smile.

Owen opened his eyes, just _looking_ at Luke. "You're right. You're going to the Academy. It's your life, and you have to get started. Eighteen years haven't opened your eyes to the wonders of a peaceful life, I doubt a couple more will do the trick. So get going."

Owen found himself blinking as Luke launched himself forward into a hug. "Thank you, Uncle Owen!"

Owen patted Luke's shoulder, a little awkwardly - this touchy-feely thing really wasn't his gig. "I've just got... mm. Four assignments for you."

Luke looked up, nodding.

"First, keep your eyes open. Think on all the things I said, make some plans that don't depend on what your friends are doing. Not saying you need to bow to my wisdom, just consider it."

Luke nodded. "I... guess I'll need to, if we can't link up..."

"And keep your **options** open, your friends right now aren't the only friends you'll ever have - or even necessarily the best."

Luke blinked. _Yeah... he doesn't believe me. Hard to see these things at that age. Especially with how shy he can get. We're going to have to hassle him into it._

"Make good decisions, and learn from bad ones."

"That's about tonight, right?"

"Perceptive. Here's the most important one: survive. You're angling for at least two years of getting shot at, so minimize the amount of times they connect, will you?"

"You've got to work on your order there."

"Shut up, I'm putting these together as I go. And finally: remember to keep in touch. Beru would want to hear from you."

Luke raised an eyebrow. "Just-?"

"Shut up."

Luke just grinned.

"You're still grounded, by the way."

-----------------------------

Jundland Wastes, Tatooine Surface

15:05 Coruscant Standard Time (Martius 34, 03:05 Tatooine Local Time)

The sand crunched under his boots as Darth Vader strode from his bent-wing TIE prototype.

He still disliked the memories this planet conjured up - the things he had lost, the things that had shaped him... he wondered sometimes if he ever had really escaped this place.

But, with his otherwise-buoyant mood, and the ghost of the past he _was_ laying to rest today, he could handle it.

He glanced up as Jaeger's more standard TIE spun through the newly dawned sky overhead, looping around the flight path of Wahler's. Yes... with them overhead, there was no way for Obi-Wan to run away. And enough firepower that, even if Vader himself and the stormtrooper detachment were not enough, Obi-Wan still would not manage to fight his way out.

As he arrived at the temporary command post (a rather exotic description for what amounted to a handful of monitors on the ground surrounded by the bulk of the troopers he had taken down with him - the rest were spreading out and securing the area, or guarding the shuttle) set at the bottom of the craggy peaks, he returned the commanding stormtrooper's salute with a nod. "Status of the droid?"

The officer - Lieutenant Worl, one of the newer-generation Jango-type clones, if the IFF display in Vader's helmet was correct - turned to look at the monitors. "We've dropped it off just on top of the plateau, it reported good landing. It's entered now, but hasn't spotted anyone yet."

"Have it search every room."

Worl nodded, and uttered the appropriate commands.

It took Vader no more than an instant to locate that cluster of monitors processing data from R2-H7, an astromech off of Devastator busily exploring Obi-Wan's home.

It was spare, very little there. Typical Jedi, they spent so long without property that they had no idea what to _do_ with it when the Order was no longer around to forbid things. Clearly Obi-Wan had changed little in the last nineteen years.

Of course, Vader himself was much the same with property. He had immense access to property, and while he technically owned a lot, it never really felt like 'his' - he didn't even have anything he did with it all but his various assignments.

... Still nothing. Was he just not home, or-?

Vader looked up as the sky turned red, fire belching from the mountainside where Obi-Wan's home had stood, the immense **noise** of the explosion echoing through the rocky crags and reduced from painful volume by their helmet gear... A handful of monitors rolled away under the shockwave. He pointed up, reaching with the Force, halting a rather large block of stone before it slammed into the command post - rounded, smooth, part of the roof, he supposed - and flicking it aside.

While Worl and his men bustled, confirming losses (zero) and reorganizing to search the area, and Jaeger and Wahler spun howling through the sky above, searching to see if anything was moving, Darth Vader simply stood, still.

As expected.

Kenobi had felt him coming and left a 'gift' for the hunters. While it was still worthwhile to continue the search, Obi-Wan was probably gone.

No. Hidden. He did not have the speed to outrun the TIEs, and he knew it. But he did have perhaps a decade or more in this home, to plan out and prepare a hiding place. Vader doubted they would find him. Obi-Wan was not the type of man to be overconfident - if he had trusted himself to a hiding place, he was hidden beyond finding.

An orbital bombardment would probably get him, but it would not be possible to _confirm_, and the man had a bad habit of surviving. Vader did not need to spend the rest of his life looking over his shoulder - he had enough issues without making the issue of Obi-Wan immortal. And he could survive, Vader could think of a few ways - and would be even more dangerous for being believed dead.

No, Obi-Wan had escaped today.

But Vader had beaten him. He had predicted Obi-Wan's plan, and saved the lives of his men who would otherwise have stormed in. And even R2-H7's data was all backed up, and could be loaded onto the next new astromech body. Zero losses. **That** was something to take pride in. And he had finally proven, to himself, that he could predict Obi-Wan's traps - perhaps not beat his plans, but keep up with them.

Adding that to the final interception of the Death Star plans... the useful, driven agent he'd found in Jaeger... and helping another child get off this rock...

He almost felt like whistling. Though he doubted his weak, mechanically-assisted lungs would manage it.

-----------------------------

Next: Chapter One.

Despite the Rebellion's failure to acquire the plans to the Death Star, don't think they're out yet. The Galactic Civil War continues, as Luke gets started on the career he's always dreamed of... and a couple problems attached to it.

-----------------------------

Author's Notes:

First off, some thanks go out to my grand prereader squad - Sunshine Temple, Belgarion213 (don't ask me why he's the 213th), and DCG (McClown? I have no idea which of those names he uses at any given place).

Yes. I'm _writing_. So strange, isn't it...? Let's try and keep this up. First Star Wars fic, this thing's poked at my head a bit, and then a certain _someone_ gave a final idea seed to it... Anyone has any questions, comments, concerns, feel free to leave a review, or email me (miraclewolf at hotmail com)

Note for canon: Star Wars canon is such a tangled, twisted skein that it'd take a lawyer to make sense out of it. Even the 'movies only' canon has... er, let's go with 'holes' and leave it at that. Canonwise, I'm going _primarily_ by movies, glossing over or fixing up little bits that don't work in a sane universe. EU is... if I like it or think it works for this story, and actually know it, it's there. The New Jedi Order novels and onward... I've never managed to get them, and what I've heard suggests I may be grateful for that. So for the purposes of this story, the Vong etc _do not exist_. There may be an equivalent, but I don't have the information to write the actual thing properly.

Basically... the storyline is going through a potato peeler. EU events might happen, or might not. They might happen at completely different times. With this little divergence, _everything_ is out of whack.

I'm aiming to have some FUN with this one.

Second note: calendar invented for the purposes of this story. Years are dated Before The Empire and After The Empire - BTE/ATE. Year Zero is centered on the end of the Clone Wars and Palpatine's Declaration Of A New Order. (So the story begins 19 years after the foundation of the Empire)

The galactic standard year is the Coruscant year, three hundred and sixty-eight days, divided into ten months. Said months are:

Martius - 37 days.

Aprilis - 37 days.

Maius - 37 days.

Iunius - 36 days.

Quintilis - 37 days.

Sextilis - 37 days.

September - 37 days.

October - 36 days.

November - 37 days.

December - 37 days.

Yes, it's the old Roman months. If you need to figure out which month is which, translating them is fairly easy - March, April, May, June, July (replaced Quintilis), August (replaced Sextilis), and the last four are self-explanatory.

See ya next chapter.


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